


Girl's Night

by narutoandsasukearelovers



Category: The Magnus Archives (Podcast)
Genre: Cute, Domestic Fluff, F/F, Fluff, Gen, Happy, No Angst, Semiplatonic
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-11-27
Updated: 2020-11-27
Packaged: 2021-03-09 20:09:03
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,795
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27742039
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/narutoandsasukearelovers/pseuds/narutoandsasukearelovers
Summary: Basira and Daisy enjoy a peaceful night in.
Relationships: Basira Hussain/Alice "Daisy" Tonner
Comments: 1
Kudos: 11





	Girl's Night

It had been too long since Daisy and Basira had a night like this. There was no archive, no blood, no hunt. Just Basira and Daisy, enjoying each other’s company. The text had come through halfway through Daisy’s workday: 

Basira: Wine and shit TV? Seven PM? My place?

Daisy: YES! Please. I’ll bring popcorn.

As was customary, Daisy had already prepared a bowl of popcorn and two glasses of Chablis and was lounging on the couch when Basira emerged from her bedroom in pajamas, her hair wrapped in a towel from her shower. 

“Daisy! I see you’ve figured out where I hid the spare key,” she said wryly.

“The wheel well? You should try a little harder next time, really, put it on the roof or something, at least,” Daisy replied. 

It had become their little game, a small indulgence of the hunt. Basira never let Daisy into the apartment, but made her find the key every time. Daisy always found it, no matter where Basira had stashed it. Once, after a fight, she had hidden it under a rubbish bin a few streets away. It had only taken Daisy fifteen extra minutes to track it down. 

They caught each other up on their respective days while _Grey’s Anatomy_ played in the background, sipping wine and munching on popcorn. There was eventually a lull in their conversation, and Basira smiled widely.

“Wait, Daze, you know what? Remember when we were kids and we would play fuck, marry, kill?” Basira asked, her eyes sparkling mischievously. 

“Yes! Why not. You go first, but make it a good one.” Daisy said, her heart warming at hearing Basira’s nickname for her.

“Alright, alright, oh, um . . . Alright. Sasha, Martin, and Tim.” 

“Oh, my . . . kill Martin, fuck Tim, marry Sasha.” 

“Very sensible. Poor Martin,” Basira said. “He just can’t catch a break.”

“Eh, it could be worse for him, he could be married to me. It’s my turn—let me think.” She steepled her fingers and made a show of being deep in thought. “Elias, Jon, Martin.” 

Basira laughed. “Are repeats allowed?” 

“I don’t care, I want to know, so answer!”

“It’s hard to decide whether to kill Jon or Elias. Poor, poor Martin, looks like he’s getting married. This is terrible. Kill Jon. Just off looks? Fuck Elias,” Basira said, taking a long pull from her wine. “I’d prefer Elias dead but I think I’d perish if I were married to Jon, so.” 

Daisy made a face of disgusted understanding. “Hm. I get it.”

“I just remembered, I have some cookie dough in the fridge, fancy baking a batch?” Basira said. Daisy’s face lit up. The pair headed to the kitchen. Daisy retrieved the sheet of cookie dough from the fridge and Basira dug out a baking sheet and silpat from the drawer under the stove. When Basira turned around to preheat the oven, she saw that Daisy had already opened the package and was already chewing a mouthful of raw dough. Basira glared at her and snatched the package from her hands. 

“You know what your problem is? You can never wait for anything,” Basira said. Daisy looked at her innocently, her blue eyes wide, and fluttered her eyelashes.

“I don’t know what you mean, Basira, darling,” She said, putting her hands up. Basira rolled her eyes. “One day, you’ll get salmonella. Then you’ll learn.” 

“Basira, you know me, I never learn,” Daisy said gaily, crossing the kitchen to where Basira had turned away to place the little dough squares on the cookie sheet. She put her strong hands on Basira’s shoulders and squeezed hard, just to provoke her. Basira drew her shoulders up to her ears and whirled to smack at her, brandishing the half-empty cookie dough package. 

“Stop being a shit for one second or I’ll snap you in half, so help me God, Daisy!” Basira said. Daisy grinned and said nothing, feigning as if she were going to grab the package of dough out of Basira’s hand. When Basira moved out of her reach, Daisy used her other hand to pluck a piece of dough off of the cookie sheet and pop it into her mouth. Basira swung at her, but Daisy ducked and sidled back to the coffee table to retrieve their empty wine glasses. 

“Are you quite done now?” Basira asked as she put the cookies into the oven. 

“I’m never done with you,” Daisy said, watching Basira’s olive cheeks flush a little, “but I think we should play a drinking game.” 

Basira arched an eyebrow. “Oh, really? What kind?” 

“I think,” Daisy said as she refilled their glasses, “we should have a sip every time one of the doctors says ‘BP’s dropping,’ gets in an argument with another doctor, or hooks up in the on-call room.” 

“Alright, you’re on.” Basira assented. They drained a few glasses of wine that way, though Basira had to stop once she started complaining of heartburn. Soon enough, the cookies finished baking. Despite her agita, Basira managed to put away seven.

“Hey,” Daisy said, elbowing Basira in the ribs and causing her wine to slosh precariously in its glass. “Do you want to play _Would You Rather_?” 

“I guess so, but will you go first so I have time to think of a question?”

“Yeah, no worries. Would you rather be the first person to explore a new planet or be the inventor of a drug that cures a deadly disease?” 

Basira was silent for a moment. “I’ve had enough novelty for a long time, I think. I’d like to do some good, so I think I’d like to invent a cure for an illness. 

“Hmm . . . fair enough. Would you rather have a real get-out-of-jail-free card or a key that opens any door?”

“The key sounds like something we’d have in artifact storage. I’ll take the get-out-of-jail-free card.” Daisy said. 

Basira smiled. She had been so absorbed in spending time with Daisy—the cookies, the wine, the television, sitting close to her on the couch—that she had driven the archives completely from her mind. That is, until Daisy brought it up again, which she didn’t begrudge her for. Work was, after all, a supernaturally large part of both their lives. 

“Good deal. Would you rather have unlimited international first-class tickets or never have to pay for groceries again?” Basira asked.

Daisy seemed to pull inward when Basira asked her that. She settled deeply into the couch cushions and took a long sip of her wine. 

“I think you know how much I would love to get away. I think all the time about running. About packing up and leaving and never thinking about the archive again.” She said.

“Where would you go first?” Basira asked.

“Somewhere far away and warm. Somewhere they don’t extradite to the United Kingdom. Maybe Venezuela. But I’d only go if I could take you with me.” She said, turning to look Basira in the eye, her gaze warm. Basira blushed and punched Daisy in the thigh.

“God, when did you become such a sap? If you ever find out how to leave, you have my blessing. Get out of here. I’ll catch up to you eventually.” 

“Basira. I’m trying to be serious.” Daisy took one of Basira’s hands in both of her own. “Would you rather fuck a pig and nobody ever finds out, or never fuck a pig but everyone thinks that you have?” 

At that, Basira snorted and withdrew her hand from Daisy’s to raise it to her own temple as if the question had physically pained her. 

“Hold on. Let me think. This one is grim.” She said. “Christ, Daisy, I suppose I would fuck the pig.” 

“What’s wrong with you! You really can’t take some pig fucking rumors?”

“Not just _some_ , you said everyone thinks that I’ve done a pig! I can’t have my mother thinking that her beloved daughter has had marital relations with a pig! How would I keep a job?”

“Well, it’s not as if the archives could fire you,” Daisy said.

“That’s not the point and you know it! It would be socially devastating,” Basira insisted. 

“Alright, I get it, I get it, but it’s your turn, so ask away, pig fucker.” Daisy said.   
Basira rubbed her hands together like a supervillain. “Would you rather live in a world where all songs ever written exist but they’re all performed by Pitbull, or in a world where only one Pitbull song exists but it can be performed by every artist with their own cover interpretation?” Daisy groaned. “Pitbull? Really? I never thought I’d have to think about this.” 

“ _Dale_ ,” Basira said.

“I don’t know. Just for the experience I’d like to visit the world where Pitbull performs, I don’t know, Cherry Wine by Hozier. But I don’t know if I could live in that world forever…” Daisy trailed off, draining the last of her glass of wine and frowning. She draped her arm around Basira and they were silent for a while, turning their attention back to the tenth season of _Grey’s Anatomy_ , watching the attractive doctors bicker over the internal politics of the hospital. 

At the start of a new episode, Basira looked up at Daisy with her dark, liquid eyes. “Daze? Will you brush my hair?” She asked.

“Of course, sweetheart.”

Basira slid off the couch cushion onto the rug and set her glass of wine on the coffee table. Daisy took Basira’s hairbrush and scooted on the couch behind her. In front of them, the characters of Grey's Anatomy hurried across the screen, alternately crying and embracing. She ran her fingers through Basira’s still-damp hair, marveling at how it spilled like ink between her fingers. As she leaned closer to Basira, Daisy noticed that she had applied perfume after her shower. Had she done it for herself? Had she hoped that Daisy might notice? Daisy was pleased at the thought that Basira might have put it on with her in mind. Momentarily lost in thought, she paused her detangling and craned her neck a little to see that Basira had let her eyes drift closed. Eventually, she stopped brushing and began to split Basira’s hair into sections to braid. As Daisy gathered up the dark fan of hair as she plaited, she studied the curve of Basira’s neck and shoulders under her shirt, which had dampened in places from her hair laying across it. Basira leaned her head against the inside of Daisy’s knee.

“I love you,” Basira said softly.

“I love you, too.” Daisy replied. She didn’t stop plaiting. She craned her neck again to look at Basira, and she noticed how even though the bluish glow of the television muted the golden tone of her skin, her smile was radiant. 

  
  



End file.
